i find myself wishing i could write
like i used to
write hard hitting poems that leave aches in your bones

i can't
i'm happy. i'm somewhere else, and i'm happy.
i look at old writings and i do not see me
i see a girl who was struggling to live and to breathe

six months ago, i'd take it all back
i'd gather up my poems and i'd stuff them in the trash
six months ago, i'd want to forget
but now all i see is development

i do not recognize that version of myself
but now,
i know it is for the best
i know that without our past selves,
we'd be nowhere near our present

and i quite like her
i like her strength the best
i like that even when it's not needed
i know it's served her well

The poems that I used to scribble
Were fickle, were fictional
I had no raw words to write
Until I fell in love with you

Until I fell in love with your dimples
Including the ones on your back
Until I fell in love with your heart
And how you fell in love with me

Your brown eyes
Your hands poking out
Of my oversized hoody
And your hand in my hand

Your small *******
How they felt in my hands
And in my mouth
How I felt when your ******* went hard

The way you felt in my mouth
When we would kiss each other
And our lips would not fully meet
But our tongues would still play

I would bite your sensitive lip
And you'd give out to me
Until I would kiss it better again
And you would kiss my neck

And my chest
And my stomach
And all over my thighs
Oh, how we teased each other

We would share our mints
Through kisses
We'd sent ***** texts
***** pictures

We were only fifteen
We had a lot of ***
And now I'm seventeen
And you are my ex

And I don't miss you
But I wonder about you
I wonder about your dad
I wonder about your wrists

I wonder about your lungs
I wonder about your music
I wonder about whether
You wonder about me or not

I feel your stare burning me
More often than not
But my anxiety forbids me
From checking if it is true

Your laugh is ******* adorable
But your muttering makes me want to
Throw a table at your face
Leaving it as raw as this poem